My Friendliest
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: The correspondence of Lord Cutler Beckett and his wife in England.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is a fic I wrote some time ago and I have finally decided to post it here. I was hesitant at first because I know this site isn't very Beckett friendly and this fic has currently only be exposed to Beckett fans, but it's worth a shot. This story is a Beckett-centric fic, it does not attempt to show him as a "good guy" or a "bad guy". He is simply portrayed as, well, Beckett. This story is completed and if I receive a favorable response, I will continue to post one chapter each week. Feedback is highly appreciated. I have no beta, so any mistakes that occur are my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

October 2, 1729

My friendliest,

I received your last letter with much joy. It eases my heart to know you arrived safely in Port Royal, however disagreeable the climate and locals may be. Did you truly disrupt the wedding of the Governor's daughter? I know it is not my place to reprove, but I cannot help but think the matter may have been handled with more sensitivity to the bride and her groom. Recall our wedding day, if you will, dearest. I believe it is charitable to say you were most vexed. In fact, I remember you grasping onto my forearm in order to stand upright. But then, the heat was rather oppressive that day.

I am afraid I have little news for you. The weather has been mild, balmy even in the afternoons. I have taken to walking in the gardens and sitting beneath the willow tree by the stables. A family of robins is nesting under the eaves of the carriage house. They are lovely creatures and they sing all day long into the evening.

In the matter of singing, however, I have found much trouble. Remember the girl you hired just before your departure? I told you she had all the makings of a saucy wench. Her tongue is too quick and she gives herself airs. How a scullery maid can give herself airs, I shall never know. But during the past two weeks, she has threatened to drive me mad. Her favorite pastime is singing, but unlike the robins, she is not accomplished in the said vocal art.

And oh the madrigals that trip past her lips! Vile things, they are. Wicked ballads. I blushed for shame many a time. Tales of robbers and murderers and on more than one occasion, pirates.

I had the kitchen maids scold her fiercely and still she did not listen. At last, I took her to task myself. Wretch. These were her words.

"If it sore vexes Her Ladyship, then mayhap Her Ladyship should stuff her ears with cotton."

Can you imagine? Well, I sent her along without any references. I hope you are not angry with me, Cutler. I shall find another maid, perhaps a mute this time. Never did I think a servant would give me such trouble.

My sister Harriet says I am too strict a mistress. She passed by the other day and I was glad for her company. We took tea and discussed many trivial things. Though I don't think she is at all pleased with me.

Last week she invited me to a dance, a simple affair at the Southerby's estate just outside of Bath. There I made the acquaintance of a false young woman. Abigail Harkins was her name.

She discussed for a many minutes the wondrous virtues of her fiancé, a Captain in the 23rd Foot. But I found her praises tedious and remarked that I was fortunate to have a Lord for a husband and not some foolish soldier.

At which point she inflicted many harsh words upon your character and mine. I then told her, with little fuss, that I hoped her intended would be ripped to pieces by a stray cannonball. Miss Harkins called me a "horrid shrew" and said that we (you and I that is) were quite deserving of each other. She then departed.

I do not think I am a shrew. Do you? Truthful, perhaps. But not shrewish.

You inquired as to the well-being of your horses and I am glad to report that they are in good health. So the coachman informs me. Marcus, the bay stallion, has sired another foal with the grey mare. I know you should be pleased to hear such.

There is another bit of news I wish to leave you with but I find myself dallying about it. Since picking up my pen I have twice left my parlor and consumed three cups of tea. In short, dearest, I do not know how to word this. Forgive me if I sound blunt or foolish.

Six weeks after your departure I began to feel ill. I sent for the physician and he suggested I send for the midwife.

It appears that I am in circumstances.

I will say no more on the matter for I have very little to say. Instead, I leave you with the words of Marcus Aurelius and pray that you take heed.

"Everything that happens, happens as it should and if you observe carefully, you will find this to be so."

Your dearest wife,

Lady Anne Beckett


	2. Beckett: November 15, 1729

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter two of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the first chapter, Rachel Sparrow and Loony Lemur. Your feedback is highly appreciated. Again, I do not have a beta for this chapter so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

November 15, 1729

My fairest,

I was most grievously delayed in composing this letter. Fearfully delayed, I might add. If you fancy the singing scullery maid a bother, I invite you to the Caribbean to view a grand assortment of wenches, whoresons and bloody awful pirates. (That invitation is purely figurative, you know. In fact, I _do not _want you here. Much too dangerous. Also, pardon my language. If I didn't know that you were already accustomed to it I might haven chosen my words more carefully.)

Now as to the said wenches. Recall my previous mention of the Governor's daughter. Elizabeth Swann is her name, betrothed to a blacksmith. Yes, a blacksmith. He's a skinny, lad of a blacksmith too. Poor as a wandering oaf. Fortunately, he is not stupid. I was able to bargain with him regarding the capture of Jack Sparrow's compass. (You must remember him as well. I regaled you with certain tales of our earlier days together before I left England.) The blacksmith, Will Turner is his name, agreed to the proposed bargain like an honorable man. Can you imagine blacksmiths being honorable? They remind me of executioners almost, darkened by soot and grim faced.

But it was Turner's fiancée, that delicate, wilting bride as you would think of her, who gave me the most trouble. Last night I stood upon the balcony just off my office, reading your letter by the light of a lantern. As I proceeded inside, for the nightly breezes chill whilst the day's sun bakes, I was confronted by the vicious hellcat.

Pistol in hand, still garbed in her wedding attire, Miss Swann demanded the release of the Letters of Marque. Oh the impudence and insolence. You would think that most women would resort to some form of trickery, implying feminine wiles and seduction. (Rest assured, my lovely. I am a strong man yet.) But Miss Swann requested, no demanded, that I deliver unto her a way of securing her blacksmith's freedom. I refused until she pressed her pistol to my throat and reminded me that I robbed her of her wedding night.

I am afraid I have no understanding of the female mind. Miss Swann is only a year or two younger than you, why should she be so hotheaded? I recall now our wedding day or elopement rather.

I remember standing under the sill of your casement and calling to you in whispers. I remember us dashing through the blackened countryside on Marcus to the church, to be wed during the uncharacteristically warm dawn. I believe it was your sister Harriet who kept your uncle and mother delayed for so long.

And recall the following Christmas, with your uncle threatening to take me outside and "color the snow red with my blood." Throughout such pressing trials you remained calm, composed and well-spoken. Why, then, should Miss Swann be driven to rage?

Yet Anne, you reprove my lack of sensitivity towards Miss Swann. I would ask you then, what would you do? I disrupted the wedding with little fuss. I had the warrants at the ready. Both bride and groom were arrested on the spot. The entire affair concluded within a matter of minutes and if the other party suffered any embarrassment, then it is their fault for associating with pirates. Again I ask, what would you have done?

As to the unfortunate situation with the maid, I am not angered. Best to get rid of her as you did. I warn you though, be mindful and careful as to choosing a replacement. Shy, quiet girls are hard to come by. Be strict and firm if you must. A saucy girl might be frightened into complacency by the threat of a lashing.

Abigail Harkins? I heard of her engagement to a _Lieutenant _of the 23rd Foot, but no Captain. The woman gives herself airs, darling. Dull aspirations for social success. You were right to treat her so. The girl must learn her place.

If you should meet with her again and be forced to share the space of a room with her, remind the insolent fool of this. If Miss Harkins intended is indeed a military man in the 23rd regiment, there is a good possibility that he might find himself under my command sometime in the future. Then I should not hesitate to send him off on my weakest ship in the greatest storm and let the sharks deal with him.

You ask me now if I think you are a shrew. This query I have given substantial thought to, for you know I would not give you a foolhardy answer. After much musing I have come to a conclusion. Shrews, I regard as wicked old women, a step below the

misanthropic and above the commonly rude. They remark on all forms of society, yet disregard their own failings. If you should question yourself, wondering if you are a shrew then that shows you are aware of your susceptibility to flaws. A shrew would never do such. After all, you are not a wicked old hag, but an exquisite, charming woman who shall always have my affection. Does that settle the matter?

Ah Marcus! What a good old fellow he is. The gray mare is likewise a noble beast, well-tempered and well-bred. I am certain she will produce a strong, healthy foal fit for the races or the hunt. Of course, I expect a missive alerting me of the birth. Tell Mr. Collins, the coachman, to keep a careful eye on her. Provide her with the softest straw for bedding and for Marcus, pluck an apple from the orchard for him. I think he deserves it.

As to the last news in your letter, I am afraid I have very little to say myself. I hope you will accept a quote from Cicero instead.

"Of all nature's gifts to the human race, what is sweeter to a man than his children?"

Your dearest husband,

Lord Cutler Beckett.


	3. Anne: December 31, 1729

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter three of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the last chapter, Rachel Sparrow, Mayhem O'Malley and Loony Lemur. Thanks so much for your feedback! Again, I do not have a beta for this chapter so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

December 31, 1729

My friendliest,

I sit composing this letter in one of the grander guest chambers in sister Harriet's house. She insisted I join her in Devonshire for Christmastide and the New Year. I almost declined, so ill did I feel, but at the last moment I accepted her invitation. It is better, I think, to celebrate Christmas with my family, though she is the only one of them that will have me.

You should see me now, Cutler. I do look a bit different. My seamstress had to hurry to adjust my gowns, for the changes that motherhood brings are swiftly falling upon me.

I have been so ill, so terribly ill that I feared for my life and the life of the babe. But the midwife assures me that it is all part of the natural course of child bearing and the new maid has taken to brewing a wonderful tea that eases my discomfort.

Ah yes, we have a new maid. I must admit she is quite pleasant, a Yorkshire girl, one Agnes Dean. When she heard from the kitchen maids that her mistress was ill she immediately requested that a certain tea be brought up to me. As it is, I would not mind if she started singing, as long as her brew continues to settle me.

I was surprised, in fact, that Harriet invited me for the whole holiday. I thought she would spend some of it with mother and uncle. You know they will not have us since that Christmas four years past. I shudder at the memory of it.

I was even more surprised though, when last night as I lay in bed I heard a carriage pull up to the front door. The hour was late and I could not imagine who would come to call. Curiosity infected me and despite the chill, I crept out of bed and peered out the window into the yard. A woman stepped out of the coach, dressed in a somber gown of black with a modest hat perched atop her gray hair. It was mother!

Imagine my utter shock. I felt cold all over and my flesh prickled until I wrapped my dressing gown tight about me. I thought perhaps she had heard you were in Port Royal and decided to pay a visit. But I daren't go downstairs, lest she lay her haughty eyes on me and sniff with disdain. No, like a nosy child I leaned against my chamber door and listened for their echoing voices. It quite reminded me of the night I hid by the stairs when you asked uncle for my hand.

For a long while I could not hear what they whispered, but then Harriet's voice rose up high and loud.

"She is with child, mother. Won't you see her for a moment?"

"I haven't the time," mother argued. It was the first time I had heard her voice in years. She sounded much the same, dry and dreary as always.

"But kind mother!" George, Harriet's dear husband protested. "Why should you not wish to see your first grandchild? Think of the little babe and think of your daughter…"

"No grandchild of mine," mother interrupted. "Not of _his _blood."

Nothing more was said. I slipped back into bed and pulled the covers about me. I did not weep, Cutler. But I did not find rest either.

It saddens me, though not half as much as it should. To think Auntie was the only one who cared for you. She introduced us after all. I remember when she came home from London and told mother she found a suitable gentleman for her daughter, a lord no less!

Well, mother thought she spoke of Harriet, not me. No, I was too young, she said. A foolish girl of fifteen should have little to do with a man thirty and three.

I do not know why, for such matches are acceptable. Uncle disliked you as well. I remember when you arrived for tea and he said you looked like a dandy weakling and his youngest niece should wed a tall, strong man. But that did not stop me from following you out into the gardens like I did.

But enough of the sordid past. I must tell you of the many delights I encountered this week. After my arrival, Harriet announced she would hold a grand array of festivities to mark the holiday. Not the least of which was a hunt on the morning of Christmas Eve. So sorely did I wish to go, but Harriet insisted that I follow behind in the carriage. As you know hunting is a strenuous activity and she feared the child or I would come to harm.

I could not stand the thought of bouncing along in the carriage for hours. Could you, dearest? So I stayed behind and watched from the window. It was such a lovely morning. Thick clouds darkened the skies and around half past nine it began to snow. The ladies and gentlemen paraded their horses through the courtyard below my window. Some were well mounted on gallant beasts. I am sure you would have appreciated the sight. Mr. Birdhood in particular sat astride a charming black creature, with a thin, tapered neck and good strong legs. But poor Miss Charlotte. She rode a mangy nag, a chestnut with a heavy body and neck almost resembling a draft horse.

After the departure of the hunting party I saw little more but the yowling of the hounds carried on the wind and into my room. Harriet later told me the chase was dull and they caught only a tiny hare. I think she must have lied for the guests could scarce talk of anything else.

Do you still hunt in the Caribbean? I have heard from many that there isn't a fox to be found or any other matter of worthy game. Oh how you must miss it, ten times as much as I. I can remember those frosted winter mornings when you would sneak out of bed to go for a quick gallop and return bringing the cold with you. And how I protested when you slipped between the sheets once more with a chill on you, though we never stayed cold in bed for long.

Harriet hosted a dance and dinner that afternoon. During the meal dear George did heartily wish for your health during his toast. Carols were sung about the pianoforte though I am afraid your elegant voice was missed.

I meant to retire afterwards but as I ascended the staircase I heard a few troubling words pass between two matrons. They stood beneath the stairs, close enough for me to lean over the balustrade and listen to every horrid rumor that fell from their lips.

"A child in Lord Beckett's absence," one mused. She patted her breast in disbelief.

"It has the makings of mischief, mark my words," the second whispered. Her face contorted like a nanny goat's and she pursed her lips. "Poor Lord Beckett does not know what awaits him upon his return."

"When the cat is away, the mice shall play," the first added in such a cajoling tone I wanted to shake her. "She is very young, after all. I wouldn't put it past her."

"Probably begat the bastard with a stable boy."

And they chatted away in such a fashion. I so sorely wished to do them harm. Never would they whisper such untruths in your presence. In my hand I held a glass of hot cider and it would have taken a slight flick of my wrist to send the liquid down upon their heads. I almost did, a moment's hesitancy staying my hand. But then Harriet swept up the stairs and whisked me off. She must have sensed my foul mood, somehow she always does.

The guests are gone now but promise to return tonight. I do not know if I should be happy at such a prospect or not. Already the New Year looks bleak.

I miss you, Cutler.

Elizabeth Swann, you say? Her father, the Governor, must then be Weatherby Swann. Uncle always spoke highly of him. I am surprised he offered you such trouble. But then again, uncle could not be counted on to judge a man's character well. Miss Swann may very well be a brat. Given the circumstances it seems you handled her outburst in a seemly fashion. Though the thought of you having a pistol pressed to your throat does not ease my mind at all. Do you think she would make an attempt on your life? If her addled mind leads her to marry a blacksmith then who knows what she might do.

Marcus and his mare are well, I am assured. I presented him with the apple you requested and slipped him a sugar lump from myself. I hope you do not mind.

Ah yes, Mr. Sparrow. I recall your tales with clarity for some were delightful and others dreadful. I know I need not urge you to take care, but I beg it of you. Pirates are wily and wicked, a rather dangerous combination.

It seems strange to wish you a cheery Christmastide and a pleasant New Year, for this letter will certainly reach you long after the holiday has past. Instead, I leave with the words of Euripides and pray you hold them dear to your heart.

"Love is all we have, the only way that each can help the other."

You dearest wife,

Lady Anne Beckett


	4. Beckett: February 20, 1730

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter four of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the last chapter, Rachel Sparrow, Mystress of the Dark, Loony Lemur and Astraeas Dreams. Thanks so much for taking the time to read and leave feedback! Again, I do not have a beta for this chapter so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

February 20, 1730

My fairest,

The arrival of your letter brought much cheer, however fleeting, to my rather bleak existence in Port Royal. At least you had the good fortune to spend Christmas with your sister (never mind your mother, I will get to her in moment) in Devonshire. Though I was much disconcerted to hear you news regarding the gossiping nags. Does the name Beckett not carry with it the sense of nobility it used to? My father always insisted on respect and reverence to one's better. Have those ladies no shame? If the matter is still pressing when I return to England (alas, I have no sure date) I will call both their husbands out to a duel and settle it by the point of sword. Is that satisfactory?

Your mother, on the other hand, troubles me little. She could not stand in the way of our marriage and she holds no power over us now. I am afraid my certain reputation as a rake in my youth did not endear me to her, or your uncle. Trust, my dear Anne, is a rare thing along with good sense. You mother and uncle possessed neither. To think that they believed I would tarnish your honor and then flee to my apartments on the Thames without another word. Why, I express more trust than they ever have. And that certainly is saying something, considering my business in the Caribbean turns sour with piratical corruption every moment.

You begged me to take care and I assure you I have. Every good ship in my fleet is on the watch for Sparrow. He thinks himself smart, I wager. Once he fooled me and only once, earning that brand upon his flesh. It seems now that Tuner and young Miss Swann have joined forces with the devil. But fear not, I have the proper leverage in my hand.

Governor Swann, is indeed a tricky old fellow. It was he that tried to free his daughter from prison and send her back to England in some futile attempt to clear her name. Well, the daughter may have fled but the father is safe and secure in Port Royal, under my command that is. A Royal Governor has little say in the affairs of the East India Trading Company now. He must submit or find himself stretched in a noose.

During my interview with him, we had a curious little exchange that I think you will find amusing. He noticed your miniature, the one you sent as a Christmas gift, resting on the side of my desk. (And I almost forgot to thank you, my darling, for such a dear gift. I cherish it, truly.) Swann inquired as to the identity of the "lovely young woman" and I told him that you were my wife.

"Your wife!" he exclaimed with a surprised laugh. "Might I enquire, my lord, did you marry her for her money or did she find your wealth more attractive?"

I could have throttled him. Unfortunately, I need him still. Therefore, I insisted our marriage was founded on mutual affection and consideration. He laughed again and asked what sort of title you possessed.

"The daughter of wealthy man, a very prosperous trader and merchant," I told him. Still, the fool did not believe me.

I am afraid I do not understand the Governor's thought. He insists that marriage is a tool for social advancement and yet his daughter is engaged to a blacksmith! If one's social advancement has been found through other means, then what is the crime of wedding a person of agreeable qualities?

It is this wretched Caribbean air that boils the brains of all good men. I fear, no I pray I shan't be next. Years ago I knew Swann through the social circles in London and look how far he has fallen.

Christmastide in Port Royal offered no pleasant distractions. A moderate dance and dinner was held by one of the most prominent families, though they lacked much in taste and style. The food was poor, the drink consisted of tart punch and the stringed quartet played the same song throughout the evening until the hostess requested they stop.

After a short while I could tolerate it no longer and stepped outside for air. But still, in the dead of winter, the heat scraped at my cheeks and near smothered me. I could see many a star in the sky, however and I watched the slow course of the moon for a long time. It reminded me of the summer evenings in England when you and I would traipse the hidden groves of our garden alone.

I am being to tire of the Caribbean. I cannot hunt, or socialize, or find companionship in any form.

There are two wretches for every honest man here. Just the other day my coach was delayed by the crowds milling in marketplace. I had the coachman drive the team through at last, ignoring any man who lingered a moment by the wheels.

If Sparrow and his compass are not delivered soon I fear I might go mad. There is madness in loneliness, you know. Staring at the map upon my wall is a dull pastime after all.

As to your health, I am very worried. Did you speak to the midwife regarding your early concerns about childbearing? Did you tell her that you believed yourself to barren? I worry, Anne, I worry. Take your rest, have the maid continue to brew your tea. And do not go to the stables. Marcus and his mare are in good hands. The grooms will see to them.

Lastly, I wish you a happy Christmastide and New Year, though it seems rather foolish now. I leave you with the words of Sir Philip Sydney and hope that your mind might be soothed.

"They are never alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts."

Your dearest husband,

Lord Cutler Beckett


	5. Anne: April 5, 1730

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter five of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the last chapter, Rachel Sparrow, Mayhem O'Malley, Loony Lemur and Astraeas Dreams. Thanks so much for taking the time to leave feedback! Again, I do not have a beta for this chapter so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

April 3, 1730

My friendliest,

I must admit I received your last letter with more than a little impatience. Time wears on me these days. I feel pressed and bothered, as though something is about to fall upon me and I have no way of stopping it. I am foolish, I suppose, for the midwife tells me the babe shall be born soon.

"Any day, my lady," were her exact words yesterday. They frightened me and suddenly I felt alone.

How long, Cutler, has it been since I last heard your voice? I fear I may forget the sound of it.

It is so terribly dreadful here, you can't imagine. During the day it rains, not much, but just enough to keep one from enjoying a walk outside. And during the night it storms, the heavens rage so fiercely that the shutters batter the windows until I fear the panes will break. The gardener tells me it shall bring a fresh spring and soon I might pick dozens of flowers from our garden. But now I would rather have the sun and forgo the flowers. The air is chilled.

I have been miserable of late. Forgive me, dear, I wish to send you only warm thoughts, but life has been bleak. The maid, Agnes, says it is no good for a woman to be so desperately lonely. She has become my confident, you could say. Harriet is away in London, spending her time at the theater and attending lectures. I envy her, for I have not the strength to ride in the carriage for long hours. My legs and back ache. I cannot fathom sitting in a stiff chair for a long concert.

For nearly a month I have been confined to our estate. I fear you may be angered with me, for I have disobeyed you many times. When I feel well enough, I find myself in the stables. Marcus and his mare are sweet creatures. They nuzzle my fingers with their thick lips and toss their heads about. You should see the mare now, Cutler. She is large and round and her eyes are soft. I tell her how pleased you are with her and stroke her neck. She listens and wickers for sugar which I always provide.

Marcus, on the other hand, is quite a proud fellow. He prances about his paddock and flicks his tail like a banner. If he wasn't such a fine hunter, I would suggest him as a military horse. I could just see him at parade, marching along with the drums.

I hope you are not angry with me. I enjoy the company of the horses dearly. They have helped to ease my sorrow. I know you must think me strange, especially when you find yourself trapped in a foreign land with no friends to be found. But March was quite a tempestuous month.

I think Harriet feels guilty. She thinks it is her fault that I am in such a bad way now. I assured my sister that she had done no wrong, how could know that I would encounter uncle?

It sore grieves me. Even now my cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory. If you were present at that certain gathering, uncle would never have dared to be so cruel. As it was, the whole event happened by way of coincidence.

A friend of Harriet's held a small dance one evening in March. Harriet begged me to accompany her, for George had business in the countryside. She did not wish to go alone and thought we should have a lovely time together.

"Just like when we were children," she said. She kept saying it over and over as if to convince me.

Fortunately, or unfortunately rather, I did not feel as ill that day and agreed. We arrived a bit late as the carriage could scarce pass along the muddy roads. But when our hostess greeted us, she seemed flustered.

"Oh Mistress Collins," she said to Harriet. "I did not expect your darling sister to come along. Oh, Lady Beckett." The woman curtsied and looked about nervously. "I did not know, I did not know."

At first I thought the woman affected. What could cause such distress? But as soon as I set foot in the parlor, I knew.

Uncle Henry sat amidst a group of gentlemen, discussing business. He did not see me at first, but I saw him.

He looks the same, my dear. Except his eyes were heavy and his face is drawn. Also, his clothes were plain and common. You know how particular uncle was regarding his dress, the smart frock coats he always wore. Now he appeared just a step above a gentleman farmer.

Harriet grasped onto my wrist and tried to pull me away. I would not budge. I wanted to hear every word he said.

"It's bad, Henry, bad for business," one man remarked.

Uncle Henry rubbed his temples and sighed. "I tried to make peace with the man, but he wouldn't have it."

"You should have," another pressed. "There is no getting past the East India Trading Company these days. Twice, my ships have been raided and you know I am an honest trader."

"I went to him two years ago," Uncle Henry continued. He looked desperate and awfully sad. But I did not pity him. "Stated my intentions the moment I stepped into his office. Lord Beckett, I said. I am sorry for the strife that has come between us. You must agree I meant no harm, only to protect my youngest niece. After that night I caught you both in the stables I feared you would do her injury. But I am asking for your forgiveness now. And he just sat there, saying nothing all the while."

Uncle Henry paused. He still didn't see me. Harriet pulled on my wrist until I thought it should break. But I refused to move.

"And then he finally looked up and gave me a wretched little sneer. I'll see to it your ships rot in the harbor, he said and that was it. He had his man show me to the door and would not see me again. Six months later, three agents for the East India Trading Company came to the wharves where I keep my ships and told me I had been accused of smuggling. If I knew what was good for me, they said, I should do no more business upon the sea. That was the end of it, then."

The gentlemen made sympathetic noises, clucking their tongues and nodding. I said nothing until Uncle Henry looked up at last and saw me.

He got to his feet slowly and stared at me, as if I were a phantom passing through the room. I am sure Harriet must have passed the news of my condition onto him, but still he stared at me.

I felt ashamed at first, I do not know why. Quickly, however, I collected myself and glared right back at him. Neither of us spoke, only poor Harriet.

"Uncle, please," she said and she reached forward to grab his hand. "Uncle, please, you must…"

"Where is your husband?" Uncle Henry asked before Harriet could finish. His voice sounded so deep and cold.

"Cutler has been sent to Port Royal," I answered. "The King himself requested it. He's to sort out some matters of piracy in the Caribbean."

"Probably has himself a mistress already," he said. I began to tremble. "Do you know what the rascal has done to us, to your mother and I? He means to starve us out, destroy my wealth."

"Oh dear God, Uncle!" Harriet began to weep.

"Good!" I cried. "I hope every one of your ships is confiscated and you become a pauper begging along the streets. I love Cutler and…"

"You are nothing but a brazen-faced whore!" he shouted.

The room fell silent. I wanted to say something, but my voice died within me. So helpless did I feel. I could do nothing to amend the situation or my embarrassment. I left and let the guests continue on with their wicked whispers.

There is nothing to be done, I suppose. Unlike Jack Sparrow, I am sure Uncle Henry will not destroy half your fleet in an act of revenge. But I would know one thing. Did Uncle Henry meet with you two years ago, as he said and did you refuse his apology?

Since that horrid incident, Harriet has made it a point not to invite me to anymore dances. She fears I will near the point of hysterics next and wishes to avoid all situations that might distress me. The result has been a lonely existence for my part. It is foolish to suggest now, that you send for me. If cannot travel to church how should I fare on a long sea voyage?

I fear I must end the letter here, Cutler. My mind is weary and I must rest. I am afraid that I can think of no suitable quote to strengthen or ease you mind, but there is another matter we must discuss. Have you thought of what we might name our child? For a girl, I rather like Catherine or Margaret, such royal, regal names they are. For a boy, I fancy James.

Your dearest wife,

Lady Anne Beckett


	6. Beckett: May 22, 1730

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter six of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the last chapter, Loony Lemur and Astraeas Dreams. Thanks so much for commenting! Again, I do not have a beta for this chapter so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

May 22, 1730

My fairest,

I was met with many delays before I could find time to compose this letter. The urgent tone in your last message impressed a worried mood upon me and I could scarce think of anything else. Just after your letter arrived, Mr. Mercer brought news of the sinking of the _Edinburgh Trader. _The destruction of such a meaningless ship, one not under my command, would under normal circumstances mean little to me. But there were several sailors who provided certain chilling details that even now I look out at the sea with a shudder. Among the wreckage, some ill-gotten goods were pulled from the water, so I suppose old Captain Bellamy received a just punishment for his wrongdoing.

Yet, in light of this situation, I beg you to abandon any notion of sea travel. Stay close to the land and caution all others to do so. I do not wish to frighten you, my lovely, but peril now rides on the waves in a most sinister form.

Now, as to the details of your letter. I shall admit my fury was great when I first read your account of your uncle's cruel outburst. I paced before the hearth for a good hour before my temper cooled enough to think straight. If I was at your side the wicked man would not have dared to be so forceful. He would not have even dared to show his face in my presence. Do not worry, dearest Anne, I have taken certain measures to assure that your uncle will never trouble you again.

I have written to several colleagues of mine, acquaintances formed during my many business transactions. They know your uncle and they know now to exclude him from any trade of theirs. He will be starved out for rendering such grievous insults upon your character.

Still, I would wish for a higher form of satisfaction. I should like to call him out for a duel when I return to England, but I fear too much time shall have elapsed. Instead, I am considering sending someone to fight in my stead. An expert swordsman, perhaps, if I can find one on this wretched island. I think that shall settle the matter nicely, don't you agree?

You question me regarding your uncle's mention of an offered apology on his part two years past and I see fit to give you an honest answer, as always. I did, indeed, meet with your uncle. But it should be noted that all he said was not true. He was rather blunt and cruel with me, not at all polite as he would lead you to believe. The man demanded an apology. He still thinks I tried to rob you of your maidenhood. I suppose that is why he refers to the night in stables, when he came upon us exchanging a chaste kiss.

I listened to him with all patience and once he had finished his tirade, he requested that I extend to him certain privileges of trade. I, being an honest man, refused.

And there you have the truth of it, my dearest. I only disguised the matter from you to save you from more heartache. I hope you do not find cause to be vexed by it.

I find I cannot protest your visits to the barn. If Marcus and his mare provide you with some comfort, then I am glad for it. But that does not mean that I do not caution you to take care. Guard yourself well against the cold. I know the weather in England is more temperamental than an unbroken horse.

You describe yourself as often weary and ill. I wonder, does the midwife know this? Or is she a worthless old woman who cannot care for you as she should? Perhaps you should call for the physician. Tell him I will pay whatever price he demands for a treatment to cure your aches. I know you wish to join your sister in London, but I implore you to remain home. Don't be foolish, Anne. There is too much at stake now.

It perplexes me to think that your next letter should tell me of the birth of our child. I am not sure how I view the prospect of fatherhood. Happily, of course, though I wish I could attend to both you and the child at once. I have heard tales from certain sailors in which they profess to have not seen their children or wives for years. I do not think I could abide that. As soon as I may, as soon as the sea is safe again and you are well, I shall send for you. The Caribbean may not compare to our gentle life in England, but at least we should be together.

As to the names, I much prefer Catherine over Margaret. I knew a Margaret as a boy and she was horrid little wench, always pushing and pinching me. The name James, I fear, will not do. One of the men I am currently searching for is a James Norrington. I would not want my son to be named after a scoundrel. What of my name? Is it not tradition to name the firstborn male after the father?

Ah, there is a knock upon my door. I am afraid I too must forgo the quote and hasten to end this letter. Take care my dear and remember the love I bear for you.

Your dearest husband,

Lord Cutler Beckett

P.S. No news of Sparrow yet. The rascal eludes me still. Pray that I may ensnare him before the close of the summer


	7. Harriet: July 10, 1730

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter six of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the last chapter, Loony Lemur, Astraeas Dreams, sudoku and Mystress of the Dark. Thanks so much for commenting! Again, I do not have a beta for this chapter so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

July 10, 1730

Lord Beckett,

I know you must find it rather peculiar to receive a letter composed by your sister-in-law, but I fear it is the only letter you should receive for now. Two weeks ago I arrived from London to attend to Anne on her sick bed. She had your letter tucked between the bedclothes against her breast and whenever she could, she begged me to write to you. I know she wished she could have attended to the matter herself, but any exertion of the mind or body might cause her to descend further into illness. I assured Anne that I would write to you and inform you of all that has happened in your absence. My own knowledge of the incident is rather scattered, I am afraid. The servants tell me one tale and the doctor spins another. Therefore, I shall be as direct as possible.

As you know, Anne has indulged herself in long walks to the stables and often spends time amongst the horses. After one such sojourn, shortly after she composed her last letter to you, Anne did not return from the stables for quite some time. Worrying after her mistress, the maid Agnes Dean went in search from her. She told me she found your wife seated near the stall of the gray mare with her head bent upon her breast. When Agnes tried to rouse her, Anne looked up with eyes that did not know her own maid. A fever had taken hold of her senses.

After seeing her mistress to the house, Agnes rushed to find the midwife. The foolish old woman was convinced that Anne was simply tired and chilled. She refused to come see her until she knew for certain that Anne would have the child. Agnes returned to the house only to find Anne in great pain. She said she wheezed and coughed until blood spilled forth from her lips. The fever ravaged her mind and she often called your name aloud as though you stood right beside her.

There was no time for the midwife. And as it was, your son was brought into the world in the arms of the kitchen maid. I still thank the Lord that dear Agnes had such a skill, having seven siblings of her own.

The moment the babe was laid into Anne's arms she wept and said the child much resembled his father and she was happy for it. She wanted the boy to bear your name.

Yet after the birth, Anne's condition did not approve. She still coughed and cried and trembled. I am told the old midwife came hobbling up to the house sometime the following morning. Agnes sent her back to her cottage for she said her breath reeked of rum. Instead, the physician was sent for.

Soon after, I received word in London that my sister was ill and I departed for your home as soon as I could. When I arrived, I meet the physician in the corridor. In nervous whispers he told me that he had been with Anne for many a night. Several times he even feared her death was imminent. But soon her condition began to slowly improve, though the doctor remains unconvinced that she is well. He says she bears the marks of consumption.

I tremble at the very mention of the word. I have sat with my sister for a long time now and though she is pale and coughs often I do not think she has the dreaded consumption. I expect and pray that she shall recover in time. It is my opinion (however uneducated in medicine) that the trauma of childbirth caused her to take such a bad turn. She is young and fragile and heavily burdened by your absence.

It might be bold of me to say, but I would press for your return to England. Or perhaps Anne should join you in the Caribbean. The doctor did recommend the warm breezes of the tropics to quell her disorder, though Anne has mentioned that you implore her to avoid sea travel.

Is there such evil in it? I do not know if she would be able to withstand the harsh winds of the sea now, but in time.

But perhaps you keep her at a distance for a separate reason. Forgive me of my suspicion is false. My mind is not charitable at the present moment.

Your son fairs well, though most perceive him to have a most forceful nature. Whenever the servants or I are unable to attend to him at once, he cries and flails about in his cradle. He likes to be fussed over and I know Anne often asks for him though we've taken to keeping him at distance for fear he should fall ill.

I am afraid I have little more to say. Anne wishes you to know of her undying affection for you which she professes daily to me. I shall remain with her as long as need be, so you need not fear that she be left alone. As it is, I am the only one in the family that will attend to her sick bed. Anne also begs you not to be vexed. She maintains that she is well.

I, however, still press you to return home. The choice is yours, I suppose. I remain, sir

Mrs. Harriet Collins


	8. Beckett: August 25, 1730

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter eight of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the last chapter, Loony Lemur, Astraeas Dreams, sudoku and Chicasango. Thanks so much for taking the time to comment! Again, I do not have a beta for this chapter so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

August 25, 1730

My fairest,

There is no proper way to open this letter I suppose. There are no serene words, no ancient quotes, no prayerful entreaties that I might extend to you to ease your mind, or mine for that matter. I fear I can only apologize for not sending for you sooner, when the seas still maintained a shred of safety and you were well.

I have cursed my decision for many an hour but it does little good. I cannot right a wrong by wishing I had acted more wisely. Instead I must embrace my punishment, doomed to fret and pace the floors until I receive word of your well-being or see your face once more.

My immediate fear is the threat of consumption. Surely, the doctor is wrong. What woman is not ill after childbirth? Had you developed the wretched disease I am sure he would have made note of it before. A cold is all it is, or weariness or the very melancholy that affects the heart. Perhaps I can find a cure for that.

As to the midwife, I am enraged at such incompetence. Had the child been stillborn I should have had her hanged. But my praises must extend to the worthy Agnes Dean. It is a good maid that cares so for her mistress. It would be best, in my mind, to double her pay if you have not already done so.

Does the doctor truly think it is consumption? I cannot drop the matter from my mind. The assurances I have been given, the explanations I have been offered, I am still racked with fear. If so, I will send for Doctor Wilson of London. He treated my father for his illness and has a reputation for brilliancy. I shall not have another country bumpkin lay his hands on you.

To your sister, Harriet, I express my appreciation. It soothes me some to know you are not left unattended. I trust her care for you, but nevertheless I have written to my mother. She is an invalid, I know, but it is her strong desire to see the child. After all, it might be her last chance.

As to the babe, I can now allow myself a small smile. Is it true that his features mirror my own? I am more than pleased to hear you have bestowed my name upon him. He shall be a fair and doughty little lord, that I shall see to myself. Harriet's description of his temperament pleases me as well. Only several months old and he already knows how to order his servants about. I am proud of him.

I expect our son to receive the highest education. It is a good English gentleman who possesses some knowledge of classic philosophers, though I should be most keen to instruct him in the ways of horsemanship. A child that is born with the reins in his hands is as perfect as new foal with the bit in his mouth. I shall teach him to break and ride a horse before any of his cohorts. He shall a fine horse of his own, the very envy of every noble's son.

I am afraid he will find little companionship in the Caribbean. The children here are insolent brats, nursed on piracy and every manner of folly. But I am selfish. I would rather expose my son to such rascals than suffer the torment of needless separation.

For you see, my lovely, it is my deepest wish for you to join me in Port Royal. The peril I last spoke of has past and things have turned out favorably. I am unable to disclose the full details in this letter, but I would assure you of my wonderful success. I pray that in your dark hours of illness, you might keep the notion in mind.

Your husband is on the brink of great deeds. Soon the road to civility will be paved and a more refined world shall dawn. Let its bright light bathe your weary face and soothe your aches. Know that my absence was necessary and glory is within our grasp. I pledge it to you, along with my sincere love and devotion. Our months of solitude and despair are about to be repaid. Take heart. I am making preparations for your crossing.

You will be surprised to learn that despite such victories, I have not managed to capture Jack Sparrow or his dreadful companions Swann and Turner. I have, however, formed an alliance with a valiant man, a former navy officer who hates Sparrow as much as I. You shall find him most agreeable, I think.

I fear I must bid farewell to you now, Anne. My worries abound and I fancy, by ending this letter I am letting your hand slip away from mine once more. I beg you to rest and care for our son. Think of the months to come and the happiness they shall bring.

I leave you with a quote from Titus Maccius Plautus, the only wisdom I can offer you.

"Patience is the best remedy for every trouble."

Your dearest husband,

Lord Cutler Beckett


	9. Anne: October 9, 1730

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter nine of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the last chapter, ElfLuver13, Astraeas Dreams, sudoku and Faith-Catherine. Thanks so much for taking the time to read and comment! Again, I do not have a beta for this chapter so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

October 9, 1730

My Friendliest,

The flowers have all gone and yet the very hum of life seems to float upon the autumn winds. I only wish I could be outside more to see it all. Agnes tells me the leaves have turned a most beautiful array of colors. All gold and orange and red. Sometimes I can see them from my bedchamber window or from downstairs in the parlor. They dot the horizon, fencing in the thick green lawns and edging the borders of our home. It is all so lovely. I wish you could see it.

Your last letter filled me with such blessed joy. I confess I read it almost daily and keep it close by me at all times. To think that I will soon join you in Port Royal, it is nearly too much to bear. Such happiness and relief is mine.

Forgive me, Culter, I speak of trivial things. I know you must desire to here all the news I have to offer and I do have a fair amount. First, I will address the most pressing issue of my health.

The doctor has come and gone many times these past two months. Each day, however, he seems more pleased with my condition. He is now convinced my illness was but a seasonal disorder, a summer fever perhaps. Consumption is no longer talked of though Harriet seems altogether unsure. She says I cough too often and look as pale as death. I say she is wrong. A turn about the gardens would do me well and put some color back into my cheeks, don't you agree?

Despite my improving condition, I have only left the house once and that was but a short excursion. Marcus' gray mare birthed her own little foal two weeks ago. Oh, what a darling he is! His coat is a deep brown, just like his father's and you will be pleased to know his legs are long, able for the hunt or the races. I spent a brief moment by his stall and he came forward and sniffed at my fingers. Harriet would not allow me to stay any longer. She ushered me back up to the house and made me sit by the fire for a good hour. She means well, this I know, but at times I tire of her company. I think she tries to protect me but I rebel against her, just as I rebelled against mother.

When your letter first arrived my sister acted most peculiar. I read it first to myself and then aloud to her. I had barely finished when she burst into tears and rushed from the room. So vexed and confused was I! She returned after a few minutes, dabbed at her eyes and said she would miss me terribly. Harriet does not want me to go to Port Royal.

What comfort could I offer her? I told her it would only be for a short while and that I must go. But still she seemed to so sad. My own heart began to ache and I hid my tears. I suppose I do not wish to leave her after all, she has been so good to me.

Yet then I think of you and the happiness we might have. It is so dreadful here without you, Cutler. I cannot stand it. We were not meant for such a separation, this I know. In the end, I should rather be with you than any other person, even my own sister.

I digress, again. Forgive me. My thoughts are hard to gather at times. I find myself often distracted, staring out the window to watch the trees and dreaming of the sea and the Caribbean. Already the beauty of such a place possesses me.

It is my most happy duty to inform you that our son is well. Oh for the day when you set eyes on him! Young Cutler resembles you greatly. He has the same stern mannerisms. Often he screws up his face and pretends to be cross. But the moment I lift him from his cradle he smiles and laughs. Only with Agnes or myself is he quiet. He wails whenever Harriet approaches him or any of the other servants. Everyone has taken to tiptoeing about the house, they fear disturbing him.

But I love him so and I know you shall too. He has such an elegant little mouth, I am sure he will be a gifted orator like Cicero. I shouldn't be surprised if becomes a Member of Parliament in years to come. Such a boy would have the entire country at his feet, just as his father has the sea.

Your mother has written to me and assures me she shall visit before I depart. I worry about the toll the journey may take on her health though. Do you think it wise that she come?

You spoke of such wondrous yet strange things in your last letter. I confess my curiosity gets the better of me. Glory is such a tempting prize and so often one of the fairer sex finds herself deprived of it. You are not a selfish man, Cutler, but so generous with your affection and virtues. To think that I might be by your side victory is had in whatever form delights me. I think we should make quite the couple in Port Royal, for as you know, I practice ambition like you.

Mother was a fool to doubt me, her youngest daughter the wife of a lord and, dare I say it, conqueror? It has a pleasant ring to it, don't you think? Perhaps the deeds of Caesar pollute my mind and perhaps the time for such imperialistic values has now past. But is the Caribbean not the new Gaul? Will you not pursue Sparrow as Caesar pursued Pompey? There is only one thing I ask of you, darling. If you are to cross the Rubicon, let me be by your side.

I digress, once again. You must think me quite a fool indeed. But before I close this letter I would beg you not to be vexed. I am well and so is our child. Good fortune awaits us along with unbridled happiness. Think on that when the day grows dark and doubt stirs within your heart. And know always that I love you.

I have but one thing to offer you now, my friendliest. A quote from Julius Caesar, a man whom I know you hold in great esteem. Pay mind to his words, however ancient. I believe they are relevant once more.

"I came. I saw. I conquered."

Your dearest wife,

Lady Anne Beckett


	10. Beckett: November 22, 1730

**Author's Note: **Here is the last short letter/epilogue to "My Friendliest". There is a sequel for this story entitled "Rubicon" and I will begin posting it next week. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read this story and leave such positive feedback. Thank you all so much! I greatly appreciate your kind words. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any spelling or grammatical mistakes that appear are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

November 22, 1730

My fairest,

I am afraid I must keep this letter short. Time presses upon me and from the windows of my office I can see the white sails of the _Ardent Lassie _billowing in a southeasterly wind. It is an apt name for a ship, don't you think? After all, she will carry you over the waves and to Port Royal. She is ready to sail and awaits only my final message to you before she will leave the harbor.

Forgive my forwardness, but there are several matters I must address at once. All my accounts in London have been transferred to the care of my cousin, George Beckett. He will see to things during our absence, however long it should be. I would advise you to settle any outstanding affairs in England. Any money that might be owed to your dressmaker or milliner or any other merchant should be repaid. I shall not have any outstanding debts to trouble us here. We will live opulently and fashionably, I assure you. The manor I occupy should fit your tastes and already I have spent enough on new furnishings.

Now, as to the servants. I would advise you to choose several that are to your liking, perhaps Agnes Dean might be among them. Tell them that you will double their pay if they wish to accompany you to Port Royal. If not, then they are to be dismissed. I would ask you only to retain the butler, two grooms and a maid to keep our house while we are gone.

It is also my sincere wish that you find someone to accompany you and the baby aboard the ship. If Agnes Dean does not accept your offer, find another prudent woman, someone who might care for both you and the child. I know you despise being cared for, Anne, but it is necessary. The waves are rough and with your illness, I would rather you have a suitable companion with you.

Pack what belongings you will, though everything shall be provided for once you reach this shore. I think you will find that the fashions of the Caribbean differ from those you know in England. It is quite comical actually, to see the young ladies attempt to imitate the regal dress of London women. I assure you, darling, you will be much admired upon your arrival, the Lady of Port Royal.

Until the time of your departure, I beg you to rest and care for yourself. Illness on land is one matter, but a sickness at sea is quite another. Know that I have taken every precaution to ensure your safety. No detail has been overlooked, nothing left undone. All will be well, this I know. With any luck, you will join me before the New Year.

Lastly, I am sending a man to meet you. He is most trustworthy and will attend to several unfinished matters in England. He knows much in the way of sea travel and has the utmost experience with ships. You may put your faith in him. His name is James Norrington.

The ship awaits Anne, I can no longer delay. Stand fast in our love and stand strong.

Your dearest husband,

Lord Cutler Beckett


End file.
